Most people are afraid of death. The fear of the unknown and losing what you have. It doesn't sound pleasant at all. Russia was even scared of it for a long time. His whole life he had been afraid to die. Now was different. Now he embraced, now he hated life, and he hated his past. Russia has tried every day since he began his hatred for himself to end his life. It never works.
Ivan, as a person, can't kill himself. He's tried so many times, but he just keeps coming back. Ivan's not even as old as some of the countries, and he thinks he's lived too long. Pathetic. Ivan never understood why he even tried. He couldn't die. Maybe it was just the pain and the minute long death that refueled him to keep going every day. Ivan enjoyed this pain, this madness, and the death. It was his drug. He still drank vodka like always, even more so than before. Maybe it was just now getting to him. Maybe now it was finally having an effect on him. Maybe it was fueling the need for pain, for death.
Ivan's hand clinched around the handle of the gun in his hand. The cold metal made his gloveless hands feel numb. It made it easier each time. He sat in the cold room, which had blood splatters all over the wall. Why he chose his own room to do this in most of the time was a mystery to him. Maybe it was just easier and more comfortable. It's not like he only did this in his room. He did live alone after all...
Ivan's eyes fell closed. He lifted up the gun with one hand and pressed the barrel against his temple. He placed his finger on the trigger.
Then the doorbell rang. Ivan's eyes shot open. He slowly stood up and slipped his gun inside of his coat. He tightened his scarf around his neck before he went out of the room. Who would come to his house? The doorbell began to ring over and over again quickly and annoyingly. He took his time making it to the front door. He was ready for any kind of attack. Why would someone even try so far out here in this snow? They'd surely die. Even if they managed to get a hit on Ivan, he wouldn't die. He's learned that so many times.
The doorbell continued to ring until Ivan practically ripped the door open. He was completely shocked to see it was Alfred standing in front of him. The American was wrapped up in probably a few sweaters and coats and had a red scarf around his neck. His breathing was shaky from the cold and could be seen. His cheeks were flushed from the cold and he cradled a box in his arms. Ivan just stared at him with a look.
Alfred couldn't determine what the look was. Was it bored or was Ivan glaring at him? Alfred didn't think too much of it. He didn't want to stay out here longer than he needed. He took the present that was in his hands and held it out to the Russian. "Merry Christmas."
Merry Christmas! And This is only the beginning. I will be make this story, a new story, and add chapters to all my other ones!